


take my mind for a spin

by downthedarkpath



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Archery, Fluff, Getting Together, Hopeless Romantic Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), M/M, Oblivious GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Pining, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Sports, archery au, sports AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-22
Packaged: 2021-03-27 18:48:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30127254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/downthedarkpath/pseuds/downthedarkpath
Summary: He can hardly stop thinking about Dream. Ever since he had left that afternoon - he’d watched Dream remove his arm and chest guard, folding the velco straps in for him. He’d shown Dream how to pull the arrows from the target as well, and he still feels the pressure of Dream’s hands on his. Even now, he remembers how his skin had felt underneath his palms.“What am I going to do?” he asks Cat. She hops onto the counter beside him, pushing her nose into his elbow. “Hm? What do I do, kitty?”
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 51
Kudos: 154





	1. why'd it have to be him?

**Author's Note:**

> title & chapter title from [him](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=piuvwaF7Eas).
> 
> hope u enjoy this. continuing the trend of sports aus... its my brand now.

George swings his bow up, tightens his arm and holds. He pulls the string back, back, back, pushing into the flesh of his cheek. The arrow lodged in it is ready. He inhales in once, exhales slowly, and then lets go of the string, letting it loosen and the arrow fly. The bow swings towards the ground with the recoil, and the arrow soars towards the target, curving through the air perfectly. He takes one step back.

It lands beautifully, perfectly in the centre of the target. Exactly where he wanted it.

Someone to the left of him begins to clap.

George turns to glare at them, still standing with his bow at his side. The arrow lodged in the target is still quivering. “Are you watching me?” he demands.

The man in question just grins. He’s lingering at the doorway to the practice range, with his arms folded and his eyes unbearably soft. “Maybe,” is all he says, with a teasing sort of smirk.

“Well, don’t,” George says, “and you shouldn’t be here if you’re not going to shoot.”

“I’m waiting for my friend,” he says, gesturing absently towards the door behind him. “I just saw you in here and couldn’t resist coming to watch.”

George frowns. He flexes his grip on the bow. “Who’s your friend? I’ve never seen you here before.”

“Sapnap,” the guy says, “and I’m Dream. He might have mentioned me.”

“He hasn’t.”

Dream falters slightly. “Oh. Well. I’m waiting for him.”

George gives him another frown. The feeling of eyes on him, now that he’s acknowledged them, is hard to get rid of. He bites the inside of his cheek before turning back to the targets, lifting another arrow between the tips of his fingers and nocking it, pulling the string taut once more.

He gives all his concentration to the centre of the target, breathing slowly before letting the arrow fly. He lands it in the middle again, hitting straight gold, and lets himself smile as he drops the bow.

“You’re pretty good at that, you know,” Dream says.

George doesn’t respond. He has one arrow left, and he fits it in the bow easily. He stares down the target instead of looking back to Dream, pulling the string, swallowing, and readjusting his aim just slightly. Then, he lets go for a third time.

The arrow sticks out of the yellow rings wonderfully, all three lined up at equal distances. George swings his bow down, balances it carefully on the floor and begins down the range to pull the arrows from their targets.

When he returns to the shooting line, Dream is smiling widely at him. “You could get Olympic Gold like that,” he says, like it’s the first time anyone has ever said it to George.

“I know,” George says dismissively, “that’s the plan.”

“Oh,” Dream says. He seems barely phased by George’s coldness. “Well, good luck. I bet you’ll win when you do.”

“I know,” George says again. “Has your friend not come back yet?”

Dream shrugs, “I don’t know. You don’t mind if I watch you for a bit longer, do you?”

He does mind. He minds a lot, actually. Somehow, though, George finds himself saying, “I guess not.”

“Great!” Dream says. He’s barely stopped smiling; George hates it. “I’ll just hang out here for a minute, then.”

He slides down the wall until he’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, hands folded in his lap like he’s in primary school. George watches him, almost incredulously, feels his gaze burning its way through his clothes.

He decides he’s not going to let Dream distract him any further and turns back to the targets determinedly. It’s easier when he can’t see him, when he can’t see the awe-inspired look seated deep in Dream’s eyes, staring at him like Dream knows him better than he knows himself. George exhales shakily.

He lifts his bow again, readjusting his form until his feet are just slightly apart. He pulls the string again, back as far as he can, feeling the stretch in his shoulders and the tension in his biceps. When he fires, the arrow spins at the target and lands in the red. 

It’s close, but not close enough. Dream claps anyway.

“You’re throwing me off,” George informs him.

“Sorry,” he says. He doesn’t sound sorry at all. 

George doesn’t bother replying. He fits a second arrow, lifting the bow, pulling the string, focusing on nothing but the yellow rings in the centre. When he lets the arrow fly this time, it lands exactly where he wants it.

Dream doesn’t clap again. He doesn’t say anything either. George tries to convince himself he’s grateful for the silence.

He lands the third arrow in the centre as well. The red score wasn’t too much of a loss - and he supposes he better get used to people watching him anyway. He goes to pull the arrows from the targets once more.

When George returns to the top of the range, Dream asks, “how long have you been doing archery?”

George shrugs. He doesn’t pick the bow back up yet, instead turning to face him properly. “I don’t know. Since I was a kid.”

“So you were pretty young when you started?”

“Sure. Why?”

“Just wondering,” Dream says, “Sapnap started when he was eleven. But he’s nowhere near as good as you are.”

George chuckles. “You must be a pretty supportive friend.”

“Oh, sure, I am,” Dream says, “I just tell it like it is. Some people like that, you know?”

He says it in two tones, like George is supposed to read between the lines and find out exactly what he means. George doesn’t. Instead, he hums, and says, “I guess so. Have you ever tried it?”

Dream grimaces. “God, no. I have terrible aim.”

“Not an athlete?”

“I played soccer as a kid,” he says, “Was never very good at it though. They shoved me in goal in the hopes it’d keep me out of trouble.”

“And did it?”

“Did it what?”

“Keep you out of trouble,” George says.

Dream grins. “Not really.”

“You must have been an annoying kid,” George says. It makes Dream laugh, loudly and properly, and George almost can’t deny the smile on his own face.

“You’d have to ask someone else about that,” Dream says, with a slightly abashed smirk - he still looks far too proud for his own good.

“Ask someone else about what?” someone else says, pushing open the door to the range. George assumes this is Sapnap, someone who he just about recognises.

“Ask if I was an annoying kid,” Dream explains, glancing up at him. “George here thinks I was, but I’m not the informed authority to give him the correct answer.”

Sapnap raises an eyebrow at him. “You were an annoying kid and you’re an annoying adult. I’d have thought you were self aware enough to know that,” he says. George can’t help but laugh. “Are you ready to go? I’ve been waiting for you.”

“ _ I’ve  _ been waiting for  _ you _ ,” Dream counters, but he stands back up easily. On their way out, he offers George a farewell wave.

George pretends to ignore it. His smile probably gives him away.

* * *

The next day is one of the few days George doesn’t train. He wakes up later than usual, sliding out of bed slowly before feeding his cat and setting the kettle on to boil. He pulls hoodie sleeves over his palms: it’s colder than yesterday, and the sky is icy clear. He collects a mug from the cupboard and sets about brewing tea.

He has no doubt that Quackity will want to visit today, given it’s been more than a week since they last met up. Such is life for a competitive archer - his time is split unequally between time at the range, time at the gym, and time in bed, leaving very little free space in his schedule for anything else. It’s a sacrifice he’s always been willing to make; it’s always been worth it.

The tea steams on the countertop. His cat chirps, mashing her face against his shin before hopping up onto the counter to bump noses with him. He lets her, running light fingertips over her back, guiding her away whenever she starts to seem too interested in the cup of tea nearby.

“Hey,” he murmurs to her, rubbing his fingers under her chin. “Hey, pretty cat. You can’t have that, kitty, I’m sorry.”

She purrs at him, rubbing her cheek against his hand like it’ll convince him.

“No,” he says, pouting for her, “no, I’m sorry, sweet pea. You can’t have that, you really can’t.”

He guides her away again, encouraging her to climb into his arms and then settle easily on his shoulders. The archery has given him wider shoulders and biceps over the years, providing her an easy surface to perch. It helps that she’s small - full grown but pint size, small enough to sit primly, with her feet pressed together, in the palm of his hand. 

George lifts the tea, sipping it slowly. It’s still hot, hot enough that he can feel it moving down to his stomach and warming him in the face of the cold sunshine.

He likes mornings like these, where he can linger and breathe for a little longer than normal, where the rest of the world is slow to awaken. It’s lonely, sometimes, but beautiful.

His phone buzzes. As he moves across to reach it, Cat unsheathes her claws in his shoulder. George lifts his hand to steady her, curling his fingers in the fur on her flank.

It’s a text from Quackity;  _ i hope you know i’m visiting you today.  _

It says everything George thought it would. He’d expected Quackity to visit regardless, and he doesn’t normally give warning to anything he does. George wonders if this is something he should be concerned about.

He replies with;  _ I know you are. But I don't normally get a warning. Is today anything important? _

It takes a few minutes for Quackity to reply, and in that time, George migrates to the sofa. Cat stays balanced on his shoulder the entire time, waiting until he’s settled in the cushions to hop down and curl up beside him. He wraps his right hand around the mug, stroking his left across the top of her head as he waits for Quackity’s next message.

It comes soon enough;  _ nothing too important dont worry but i am bringing cake. _

George frowns at his phone screen. If this is an important day and he’s forgotten about it, Quackity will be disappointed. If it’s just Quackity bringing cake over for no reason in particular, well. It wouldn’t be the first time. 

_ Cake? Why? _

Quackity types for a long, long time, like he’s backspacing and retying over and over again.  _ just cause do i need a reason? _

George drains the rest of the tea. He leans forward to push the mug onto the coffee table, making sure it’s far enough away from the edge that there’s no chance of it being knocked over (by him, or by his cat). Once his hand is free, he returns it to Cat’s forehead, stroking lazily across the top of her head.

He replies to Quackity with one hand, typing slowly so he doesn’t make any glaring mistakes.  _ I guess not. I'll see you soon? _

This time when Quackity replies, it comes through within a minute;  _ ten minutes and ill be there _

He sighs at Cat. “You hear that, baby? Quackity’ll be here soon, and then we get to listen to him make fun of us for a while.”

The cat meows at him.

“I know, I know,” George echoes sympathetically. “I don’t like it either. But you know, I’ve tried talking to him about it. You heard me talk about it with him.”

A second meow, and a few seconds of an agreeable purr. George chuckles, and doubles down on his fuss of her head.

“I know,” he says again, “but he only ever means it in a nice way. You’re way too cute to be mean to, sweet pea.”

She seems to understand. She meows again, quieter this time, settling down into the crease at the back of the sofa. George relaxes too, letting the dull silence wash over him for a little while. 

Before long, Quackity lets himself in with his spare key, announcing his presence with a yell. He arrives in the doorway to George’s living room with a box of, presumably, the cake he’d mentioned, and a wide, wide grin stretched across his face.

“It’s been ages,” he declares, depositing the box on the coffee table and collapsing beside George on the sofa, “and that means we have to celebrate.”

Cat leaps up, disturbed, and slinks back around to George’s shoulders. “Hey! She was here first,” George shoves Quackity over carefully, trying not to disturb her any further.

Quackity just shrugs. “Whatever, whatever. Tell me about your week.”

“It was the same as all my other weeks,” George says, almost dismissively. For the most part, it was.

“Really?”

“Yes,” George says, eyeing Quackity suspiciously. “Why? What do you know?”

“Nothing,” Quackity says quickly. “Nothing, nothing.”

George frowns. He pauses, tossing the words around in his head a little before saying them. “Well, I guess there was one kinda weird thing.”

Quackity pounces. “Yeah? What was it?”

“At the range yesterday,” George says, “there was a guy watching me train. He kept talking to me. Do you know a guy called Sapnap?”

Quackity grins. “Do I ever. Karl knows him better than I do, but we’ve seen him around. What does this have to do with the guy at the range?”

George is about eighty per cent sure that Quackity already knows exactly what happened - news travels fast, and if Sapnap’s been talking to Karl, and Karl’s been talking to Quackity, George is surprised this is the first he’s hearing of it.

“Not much,” he answers, “just that Sapnap was there with him.”

“What was his name?”

“Dream,” George says, tasting the letters on his tongue. It feels odd to say his name aloud to Quackity. It seems to make him all the more real.

“Dream, huh,” Quackity repeats. There’s a certain odd quality to his tone that sets George’s toes on fire, and he isn’t sure what to make of it. “What did you think of him?”

George makes a face. “I don’t know. He was kind of annoying.” He pauses, backtracking over their words. “Why? What are you up to?”

“I’m not up to anything,” Quackity says, with a sickly sweet smile. It’s probably meant to settle some of George’s nerves, but all it does is stir them up even further. There’s something distinctly innocent in his tone, something that isn’t innocent at all. “You have nothing to worry about.”

George supposes it’s supposed to sound reassuring. He doesn’t feel very reassured. “Usually, when it comes to you, there’s a lot I have to worry about,” he says. Quackity doesn’t look reprimanded by it at all - he just looks sort of proud.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he says, grinning. “So, how do you think training’s going?”

“It’s okay,” George says, because it is. “There’s not much to say about it, I guess. It’s the same as always. I know Techno is looking into some competitions at the moment, but I don’t know if anything will come of them.”

“Techno, your coach, Techno?”

“How many other Techno’s do you know?”

Quackity laughs. “Yeah, yeah, okay. You’ll probably win all of them, anyway.”

George shrugs, “I wouldn’t be so sure. I mean, maybe I have a good shot, but I’m not the  _ best  _ archer in the universe.”

“You’re by far not the worst,” Quackity says, “stop being so down on yourself. What would Techno say?”

“He’d probably agree,” George says, with a sort of smile. That’s just the sort of person Techno is - hard on himself and on his teams. George likes it; on the rare occasions that Techno is truly proud of him, he knows he’ll really mean it.

“That seems to be a flaw in my plan, then,” Quackity grimaces, “but, okay. Sure. Techno would agree with you but not many people would. You’re definitely one of the better archers around here.”

“There aren’t many archers around here to compare to.”

Quackity chews his tongue for a few seconds. “You’re being so difficult today.”

George shrugs, “no, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are, dumbass. You remember that time Karl and I came down to the range with you, and neither of us could even hit the target once? You showed us both up.”

“Of course I did, you two are incapable of a lot of things,” George says, “but fine. I guess I’m not too bad and I’ll wait to see what any judges rule on my ability first.”

Quackity digs his elbow into George’s forearm. “Don’t be stupid, George. You can win anything you put your mind to. It’d help you to remember that.”

“When did you get so clever?” George asks, offering Quackity a grateful smile in place of actually saying anything heartfelt. Quackity just shrugs at him.

“My wisdom and knowledge knows no bounds,” he declares, putting on a dumb voice and spreading his arms in front of them grandiously. It makes George laugh, breathing in cool air and warm tea, letting himself relax for just a day. 

* * *

He wakes up early the next morning, and spends twenty minutes watching the sun finish rising from his bed.

George has a longer day today - cardio in the morning, and then a full day session at the range. Techno should be there today, which means it’ll be more labour intensive than when he’s alone. He’s almost looking forward to it. 

He does find himself wondering if Dream will be there, and he tries to dispel the thought as soon as he has it. George isn’t sure what he’ll do if he is. He’s not sure if he wants Dream to be there or not. He tries not to think about it.

George leaves for a run as the sun is just passing above the horizon. It’s not bleeding red-orange across the sky anymore, but the clouds are still golden with the sunrise. The air hasn’t had a chance to warm up yet, and he breathes it in easily.

He enjoys cardio, usually. He enjoys running. There’s something calming in it, something that calms him in a way that’s different to shooting. Feeling his heart rate steadily rise until he feels every cell of his blood rushing through his veins is something George doubts he’ll ever get tired of.

It’s a vastly different relief to the adrenaline of archery. He loses himself in it, stepping one two one two one two until the sun is nearer the peak of the sky than the horizon. Time passes easily here, when he doesn’t pay enough attention to it. The blind monotony of it is a relief in itself.

He picks up lunch on the way to the range, and finds Techno is there waiting for him. The lobby is mostly empty, so George beelines for Techno and approaches him with what he hopes is a welcoming smile.

“Hey, Techno,” he says, “I’m not late, am I?”

Techno shakes his head. “No. Are you ready to shoot?”

“Yeah,” George says. Techno doesn’t wait around to see if he keeps talking; he leads the way into the range. On the way, they pass a couple of other archers on their way out. George doesn’t recognise any of them enough to say hello, until the last one.

Sapnap. He offers George a knowing grin and a wink as he passes. George gives him a frown back, but Sapnap walks too far away before he can question him.

“Do you know him?” George asks Techno. He has to jog a little to catch up - Techno walks about twice as fast as the average person.

“Know who?”

“That guy we just passed. Sapnap.”

Techno shrugs, “I’ve seen him around. He’s here with his friend a couple of times a week. He’s pretty good at shooting. Why?”

“No reason,” George says. Techno gives him a look. “Do you know how long he’s been coming here?”

“A year or so,” Techno replies, “why? What’s the deal with him?”

“There’s no deal with him,” George says.

“If someone’s getting in your way here, you just gotta say the word, okay?” Techno says, turning around to face him. “If he’s bothering you…”

George shakes his head, “no. No one’s bothering me. I promise.”

“If you say so,” Techno says. He pushes open a final door, and they step into the range. “Just put it out of your mind, I want you to focus.”

“I will,” George says. He takes five minutes to adjust his arm and chest guard, and getting used to pulling his bow string. He steps up to the shooting line, and Techno hands him an arrow.

“I want quantity today,” he says, “shoot as much as you can. Don’t worry about accuracy. Just get the numbers.”

George nods. He prepares himself for the arm cramps tomorrow, and nocks the arrow. 

“Shoot when you’re ready,” Techno instructs.

He takes a breath in, lets it out, and then releases the arrow. It lands in the red rings, but Techno hands him another before he can feel disappointed about it. George shoots again and again, until there’s six arrows stuck in the target, scattered through the red and yellow rings.

“Not bad,” Techno says.

“I can do better.”

“Obviously,” Techno says, “but for the first round today, it’s not bad. Go collect them, we’ll keep going.”

George goes. He already feels the pressure settling into his biceps, and he relishes in it. 

* * *

He shoots for another two hours. His accuracy slowly improves, until he’s hitting all gold. Techno claps him on the shoulder and says, “go take a break.”

Techno leaves before he does, disappearing out in the direction of the lobby and the vending machines. George puts his bow down and knows that means Techno thinks he’s done alright. He unclasps the arm and chest guard, balances his bow in the back of the room, and tugs his phone out of his bag, along with his water. He crouches against the wall, trying to relax against the plaster.

He’s got about ten minutes before Techno will be expecting him to get back to work, so George tries his best to shake the aches out of his arms while he can. What he isn’t expecting is for the door to the range to be pushed open and someone to sneak inside.

“George!”

“Dream?”

“I was hoping you’d be here,” Dream says. He grins. “Sapnap said he saw you, but I wasn’t sure if he was lying or not.”

“You were talking about me with Sapnap?” George frowns.

Dream falters. “Not in a weird way! Just that… well, I guess no matter what I say, it’ll sound weird now.”

“Probably,” George agrees. He turns his attention back to his phone.

Dream slides to the ground next to him. “Are you training today?”

“Yeah.”

“Can I watch?”

George shrugs, “If my coach lets you stay, I guess.”

“Your coach is here today?” Dream asks. George nods. “Cool. Well, I don’t wanna distract you. If you want me to leave, just say the word.”

“Okay,” George says. “Why were you talking about me with Sapnap?”

Dream sighs. “Okay. Promise me you won’t be creeped out.”

“...That depends on what you’re about to tell me.”

“I asked Sapnap what times you were at the range,” Dream says, “because I wanted to come see you.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” Dream says, “just because. I like watching you.”

“That  _ is  _ creepy,” George says. Dream lets out half of a laugh, looking at the floor, and then his shoes, and then anywhere but George.

“Yeah, uh. After saying it out loud, it is kinda.”

George bites his bottom lip. He pauses for a moment, letting Dream’s words sit between them. “Luckily for you, I’m not easily creeped out.”

“You aren’t?” Dream says. He sounds surprised. “I mean. Oh. Cool. Good.”

“Yeah,” George says. He feels a smile rising up in his cheeks. He isn’t sure if he wants to stop it. “Yeah. Cool. Good.”

Dream falls silent. George turns his phone off, tucking it back into his bag. It’s not the worst silence he’s ever heard. 

“You’re watching me,” George says.

“Sorry.”

“Are you?”

Dream shakes his head. He doesn’t have to speak for George to hear his smile. “Does it bother you?”

“Probably not as much as it should,” he says. He doesn’t look at Dream - he doesn’t know if he wants to see his reaction.

There isn’t much of one. Satisfaction rolling off of him in waves, an undercurrent of fluster, a smile that seems more genuine than George would have ever expected. Thankfully, Techno returns before Dream can say anything more.

* * *

Techno lets Dream stay on the condition that he doesn’t distract George. George is fairly certain that it will be harder for him to not be distracted by Dream than it will be for Dream to not distract him, but he does his best to put it out of his mind.

He fastens the guards, lifts his bow, nocks an arrow, and loses himself in shooting for a few more hours.

Time passes easily here. Techno offers little feedback - there’s not much he could say that George hasn’t heard before. He hits gold more often than he doesn’t. After long enough, he doesn’t even realise Dream is still watching him.

“Last one,” Techno declares, some hours later. He passes over the arrow, and George nocks it. He pulls back, feels the strain in his arms, tight in his muscles, and releases. 

He hits right in the centre, and he feels relief flood in as the bow swings down. 

“Great job today,” Techno says. “You get better with every arrow. I’ll see you next week.”

“Next week,” George agrees. Techno leaves without giving him a second glance, leaving George to collect the arrows from the target and pack up.

“He’s not much of a talker, is he?” Dream says.

George offers him a smile on his way down towards the target. “He’s never been. I like that about him. He doesn’t mess around, you know?”

“You don’t like people who mess around?” Dream says.

George sighs. He tugs the arrows from the target slowly, slower than usual. “Figures that you’d only listen to the part you want to hear.”

“I listened to the rest of it!” Dream protests. He hasn’t stopped grinning. “I’m just saying, you seem like the type of person who doesn’t want to be messed about. So that makes sense.”

“Mm,” George says. He started back up the range, watching Dream’s smile get closer and closer until he can make out each individual tooth. “You seem like the sort of person who  _ would  _ mess me around, though. So I don’t really know what you think you’re trying to do.”

“You think I’d mess you around?”

“I know you would.”

Dream scoffs, “then you clearly don’t know me as well as you think you do.”

He phrases it like it’s a challenge. George meets his eye and knows, immediately, that he won’t back down. “I could probably say the same thing about you.”

“Then show me.”

“Show you what?”

Dream gestures to his bow, balanced on the floor, and the arrows he’s holding. “Show me how to shoot. That’s the thing that means the most to you, right? Teach me.”

“You don’t know what you’re asking me.”

“Sure I do. I’m asking you to teach me how to shoot.”

George looks from his bow to Dream. He thinks about how Dream’s biceps would feel under his palms, how his hands would feel in his. How he would tighten his abdomen when he pulled back the string, and how he would instinctively relax whenever he let the arrow fly.

George nods. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

He can’t take his eyes off of Dream. “Okay.”

There’s something here, something tight and tenuous between them. George breathes it in, breathes in nerves and heart beats and a dry heat. He sees Dream swallow it, pushing it into his lungs. He doesn’t know what to make of it. 

Dream stands. He walks over to the shooting line like he’s walking to death row. George lifts his bow and replaces the arrows with it.

“How do you want me?” Dream asks.

George feels, again, like Dream is speaking in tongues. Like this is a sentence that has several meanings, and something rich and heavy hanging between its lines.

He hands him the arm guard first, lifting it from his own belongings and gesturing for Dream to extend his left arm. He does, and George fits the guard around his forearm. When he holds his hand over Dream’s skin, he feels his pulse in his wrist.

He fits the chest guard too, running his hand over Dream’s shoulders and the back of his neck. George can’t tell which part of him is tightening the guard and which is indulging in the heat of Dream’s body. He can’t decide which part he wants more.

“Take this,” he says. He hands Dream the bow. He feels like he’s just handed over his lifeline. “And stand like this. Put your feet apart.”

Dream holds the bow awkwardly, but carefully. Like he knows the life it holds. He moves his feet to shoulder width apart, still standing head on to the target.

George asks, “can I touch you?”

Dream nods. He draws in a breath. He doesn’t say a word.

“Okay,” George murmurs. He puts his hands on Dream’s hips, turning his body until he’s facing the side, his left arm facing the target. “Hold the bow in your left hand. Take the string in your right, and pull it back until it reaches your chin.”

Dream obeys easily, drawing the string back and relaxing into his stance. He doesn’t look natural, not yet, but he doesn’t look uncomfortable either. He has a natural strength woven into his muscles, flexing with every move. “Now what?” he whispers.

George guides his right hand back until the string is relaxed again. “Now, you do the same thing, with an arrow.”

He hands one to Dream, showing him how to fit it in the bow. When he pulls the string taut again, he does it easily.

“Do I just let go?”

George nods. “Yes,” he says. “Just let it go.”

He sees the rise and fall of Dream’s chest as he inhales and exhales once, twice. A third time. Then, he releases the string. The arrow flies; Dream has enough power to send it across the room, but he doesn’t hit the target. The bow swings down with the force, and this time the breath he lets out is relieved.

The moment breaks: the thud of the arrow hitting the target beats in time with George’s heart. They both exhale together.

“Accuracy will come with time,” George reassures. “But there you go. You’re a natural.”

“You think so?” Dream asks. George nods. “So you think we can do this again?”

He hands a second arrow over, and then steps back. “You do it yourself this time. Show me.”

Dream looks at him for a second longer than he should before turning his attention back to the target. George watches as he pulls the bow back up, nocking the arrow, pulling the string back. He inhales again, deep in his stomach. 

He releases the string. The arrow lands in the furthest ring of the target, and when the bow swings down, George hears Dream huff.

“See?” he says, “you’re getting better already.”

“Not as good as you are,” Dream says. He turns around to face George. “Will you show me how you do it?”

George takes the bow back, fitting it in his palm easily. Dream stands to the side, letting him step up to the shooting line. George nocks an arrow, pulls the string back, tenses and untenses his arm. Dream’s eyes bore into him, reaching deep into his skin. He lets the arrow go, watches it land in the yellow.

“You aim better than I do.”

“You’ve shot two arrows in your life,” George says, “I’d be more surprised if it was the other way around.”

“How many have you shot in your life, then?” Dream asks.

“More than I can count.”

“Because you love it, right?”

George nods. “Right.”

“That’s good,” Dream says. He looks at George, and then away. “It’s good to love things,” he says, “don’t you think?”

It means something, George knows. All he can do is agree.

* * *

He gets home that night and feels exhaustion deep in his bones.

There’s the tension in his shoulders that’s standard, and the familiarity of it is beautiful and warm. But there’s a heaviness in his heart that isn’t usually there, sitting somewhere deep in his left atrium. He isn’t used to it, but he relishes in it all the same.

George feeds Cat, tipping kibble into a bowl and setting it down for her. He waits while she eats, running light fingers along her back and scratching the top of her head. 

When she finishes, he pulls a microwave lasagne from his freezer, shoving it in the microwave and leaning back against the countertop to listen to it whir.

The white noise is welcome. It dulls the silence in his mind. He can hardly stop thinking about Dream. Ever since he had left that afternoon - he’d watched Dream remove his arm and chest guard, folding the velco straps in for him. He’d shown Dream how to pull the arrows from the target as well, and he still feels the pressure of Dream’s hands on his. Even now, he remembers how his skin had felt underneath his palms.

“What am I going to do?” he asks Cat. She hops onto the counter beside him, pushing her nose into his elbow. “Hm? What do I do, kitty?”

She has nothing to say. The microwave beeps. “Thanks, baby,” he says, scritching behind her ears once more before removing the lasagne from the machine. “You always know just what to say.”

* * *

He gets a call from Quackity the next morning, before he’s barely awake.

“What do you want?”

Quackity sounds far too alert for however early it is. George can hear his grin down the phone. “So, I heard from Karl, who heard from Sapnap, who heard from Dream, but you and him, you know, had a moment at the range the other day.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You and Dream!” Quackity repeats, “come on, George. You and him. Alone at the range. Anything could happen.”

“It’s too early for this,” George says.

“Nuhuhuh,” Quackity says, “not so fast. I think it’s the perfect time. What happened? Tell me everything.”

George groans. “Nothing  _ happened.” _

“Something clearly happened, otherwise I wouldn’t be getting told about it from Karl, who was told about it from Sapnap. Who was told about it from Dream himself.”

“Nothing happened that you need to know about,” George clarifies, “I’m going back to sleep.”

“If I call you again later, will you tell me?” Quackity asks.

“No.”

“What if I bring Karl with me?”

George pauses. He wonders if he can be bothered to deal with the both of them at once. It would probably be easier just to give in. “...Fine. If you bring Karl, and if you come around later. Like, in five hours time, I might tell you what happened. But you can’t stay long, I still have to train today.”

“Is that as good as I’m going to get?” Quackity says.

“Yes.”

“Okay,” he says. His grin, if possible, sounds like it’s gotten even wider. “I’ll see you later, then. And I’ll bring Karl with me. We expect to hear everything, you know. Don’t hold back.”

“You are the worst friend in the world,” George informs him. He just wants to go back to sleep.

Quackity just laughs, and he keeps laughing until George jabs the end call button and hangs up. He clicks the off button and tosses his phone to the side, rolling over until he comes face to face with Cat. They share a look, and George thinks he can see exactly his emotions reflected in her eyes.

He sighs at her. She seems sympathetic, at least.

* * *

He wakes up properly about three hours later, to frantic banging on his front door. George groans, rolls out of bed, and pulls on a crumpled hoodie, before going to open it.

“You have a key,” he says, to Karl and Quackity, hanging on the door jamb.

They grin at him like a pair of vultures. Karl says, “but it’s not half as fun. And would you have even woken you up if we hadn’t knocked?”

“Yes,” George says, defensively. He doesn’t admit that Karl is probably right.

“So,” Quackity says. He pushes through to the living room, waiting for Karl and George to follow him, before collapsing on George’s sofa.

George gives him a look. “Make yourself at home, then.”

“You just said we have a key,” Karl says. George glares at him.

“You know, I think we were promised a story,” Quackity interrupts. “Hm, George? Come on. Sit down and tell us everything, why don’t you?”

“I’m not sure if I want to,” George says. He doesn’t sit, even when Karl flops over Quackity’s legs. Even Cat hops up and settles along the back of the sofa. George gives her a betrayed look.

Karl groans, “come on, you promised. If you don’t tell us, we can just go and ask Sapnap. Do you want us to hear it from you, or to hear it from Sapnap?”

“Why would Sapnap know what happened?” George asks. He perches at the edge of the couch, though. It’s as much of an opening as he’ll allow them.

“Dream tells him everything,” Quackity explains. “They’re best friends, you know? Where do you think we hear about it from?”

“Yeah,” Karl says, “Sapnap may be pretty cool, but he isn’t exactly omniscient.”

George shrugs, “I don’t know. I didn’t think Dream would just be telling him everything, I guess.” He’s not entirely sure what to make of it. He hadn’t expected Dream to tell someone else about yesterday - at least, not so soon. Not when George is still trying to figure out exactly what happened himself.

“I doubt he tells him everything,” Karl says, like he’s trying to be reassuring. George doesn’t feel particularly reassured. “Probably just the important things.”

“You think I’m an important thing to him?”

“To Dream?” Quackity says. “Yeah.”

George falters. “Really? You think so?”

“I know so,” Karl says. “You know, he’s borderline obsessed with you, right? You’re all he talks about, according to Sapnap. He’s getting tired of hearing about you.”

“Am I?” George asks.

“Apparently,” Quackity says. “If I didn’t know better, I’d assume you were his best friend, rather than Sapnap.”

George frowns, “what does that even mean?”

“I don’t know,” Karl says. “Whatever you want it to mean, I guess.”

“I don’t know what I want it to mean.”

“That’s beside the point,” Quackity says, “I still want to hear about what happened at the range yesterday. From your perspective.”

“Yeah!” Karl agrees easily, “I’m still surprised Techno let him stay and watch.”

George scoffs. “So am I. It… I don’t know, nothing really happened. I was just shooting, and Dream wanted to watch. So he did.”

“And then what?” Quackity asks.

“Well, after Techno finished and left, Dream asked if I’d show him how to shoot,” George shrugs, “it really wasn’t a big deal.”

“Are you kidding?” Karl says, “cause that sounds like a big deal to me. You don’t let  _ anyone  _ hold your bow, George. Did you let him?”

“Well, yeah, ‘cause he didn’t have one-”

“And did you show him how to, or did you guide him?” Quackity says.

“I… what?”

“Did you touch him?” Karl says.

George makes a face at them both. “I have no idea what you think you’re implying right now, but I don’t think I like it. Yeah, I touched him. But not… like that. I just helped him get in the right position, and stuff.”

Quackity snorts. Karl aims a kick at his shin.

George continues, “And of course I let him use my bow. He didn’t have one. How would I show him how to shoot if he didn’t have a bow to use?”

“We’re just saying, George,” Karl says, almost gently, “is that, whenever you’ve tried to show us how to shoot, you’ve never let us use your bow. You barely even let us hold it. And you’ve never touched us to fix our stances, or whatever. But you did with Dream.”

“So what?”

“So, what do you think that means?” Quackity asks.

“I think it means nothing,” George says. “I think it means you two are looking too far into this, looking for things that didn’t happen and probably won’t ever happen. I don’t know what you think we did at the range yesterday, but it was nothing. It was just… a friendly thing. Between friends.”

“Sure,” Karl says, “between friends.”

Something about it makes Quackity burst out laughing. George feels like he’s missing out on the joke.

“It was between friends,” he says. “I… where are you getting this idea that there was something more going on?”

“Nowhere,” Quackity says quickly. Too quickly. George grimaces. 

He says, “did Dream say something to Sapnap? Did Sapnap tell you this?”

Karl draws in a tense breath. “I mean… kinda? He didn’t  _ tell  _ us anything, he just implied stuff that Dream said. ‘Cause Dream implied some stuff too.”

“What did Dream imply?” George asks. “And why are you all talking about us behind our backs?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Quackity says. “Why don’t you ask Dream what he implied?”

“Why would I do that?”

“Well, if you wanna know what he said,” Karl says, “he would be the best person to ask, after all.”

George twists his mouth into a grimace. “I’m not asking Dream what he said about me in a conversation with his best friend. That’s weird. Isn’t it?”

“If you say so,” Quackity says. “Really, I don’t think Dream would be phased by it. If it was you asking, he’d probably do anything.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” George asks. Quackity and Karl give each other a look, one he can’t quite decipher.

“You’ll realise it eventually, George,” says Karl. George doesn’t feel too sure about that.

* * *

The two of them manage to weasel lunch out of him, and then post lunch coffee as well. George can’t pretend that he doesn’t enjoy it a little bit. Getting out of the house for something other than training is nice, sometimes.

Quackity identifies a small owned cafe nearby, halfway from George’s house to the range, and George supposes he’s had worse ideas. They go, commandeering a table in the window and ordering tall cups of sugared coffee.

“So, how  _ is _ your training going, George?” Karl asks, breaking the comfortable silence they’d amassed. “You know, other than Dream.”

They don’t usually talk about the archery. George knows they don’t enjoy it too much. He shrugs, “it's going okay. Techno seems happy with the progress. We’ll probably try out for some competitions soon.”

“You will?” Quackity says, “that’s awesome, man. You know, we really are happy for you.”

George frowns. He curls his fingers around the warm china in front of him. “...Thanks. I’m glad. I’m really enjoying it, I guess.”

“That’s good,” Karl says. He sounds genuine. “You know, there’s a guy at the office who’s interested in archery. He has a clipart print out of a bow on his desk.”

“Seriously?” George asks.

Karl snickers, “yeah, seriously. It has a watermark on it and everything. But it’s nice that he’s interested in it, I guess. The world would be a lot more boring if we weren’t.”

They sound like words George has heard before. He hums agreeably. He raises his mug to his lips, sipping it. Quackity says, “you know, I’ve been thinking.”

“About what?” Karl asks.

“About going back to school,” Quackity says, “I wanna try out some more shit. Get on with life. You hear me?”

“Yeah,” George says, “I know the feeling. If you wanna go back, I say go for it.”

Karl nods, “me too. Here’s to getting on with shit.”

George laughs. He lifts his mug in mock cheers. Quackity and Karl copy him, clinking theirs against his. “Here’s to that.”

“Cheers,” Quackity says. “What about you, Karl? What do you wanna get on with?”

“I wanna get on with hobbies,” Karl says. “Maybe that’s dumb. I just think it would be nice if we made more time for them, you know?”

“I don’t think that’s dumb,” George says. He nudges his knee against Karl’s under the table. “I think that’ll be a good thing.”

He gets offered a smile. “You think so?”

“I know so,” Quackity says. “That’d be great, Karl. It’d be good for you.”

Karl nods. He taps the edge of his nail against his mug. “Yeah. It would. Hey, what would you get on with, George?”

George shrugs. He thinks for a moment. All that comes to mind is Dream. “I guess I’d just… get out more. See more people. Live my life a bit.”

“That sounds nice,” Quackity says. “I think that would be real nice for you both.”

“Yeah,” George says. He drains the dregs of coffee in his cup, before glancing at the clock on his phone lockscreen. “Oh, shit, I have to run. I’m gonna be so late.” He stands, starting to pack his wallet and phone into his jacket pocket before pulling it on. He says, “thanks for coming over. I feel like we hardly see each other anymore.”

“Because you’re always so busy,” Karl says, but it’s hardly an accusation. He just sounds fond. “Go get to the range, dumbass, we’ll be around when you get back.”

George sends them both a grateful smile, (he hopes they know what he’s grateful for; hopes they know everything he’s saying thank you for), before dashing out the door of the cafe and onto the street.

It takes a moment to orientate himself, still fiddling with the zipper on his jacket, before he starts down the road to the range. Quackity had chosen a good spot - it really is near the range - but George is pushing it on time. 

He starts to jog, rounding a corner and looking the other way to cross a road at the same time. He isn’t looking quite where he’s going, and almost trips over a pair of shoes.

“Oh-!”

“George?”

He flushes, stopping right in his tracks. “Dream?”

Dream grins at him. “You know, I didn’t expect to see you out here. Aren’t you supposed to be at the range, like, a minute ago?”

George grimaces. “I’m running late today. How do you know my schedule?”

“Oh,” Dream blushes. “Uh. I asked Sapnap, I guess.”

“You guess? You talked to Sapnap about me?”

In the back of his mind, George hears everything Quackity and Karl had said that morning. It would probably be a bad idea to tell Dream they had been talking about him. George already knows he had to have spoken to Sapnap (he hears Karl say, ‘maybe you should ask Dream what he said.’)

“Maybe a little bit,” Dream admits. “Is that a problem? Just… he’s my best friend. I kinda tell him everything.”

George almost doesn’t know what to say. He shrugs a little, half up half down, biting the corner of his lip. “It’s okay. I just didn’t… expect it. I mean, we hardly know each other, right?”

“Right,” Dream says. He falls silent; George takes a step down the road again, because he really is running late, and Dream takes one with him. “Uh. Well, we could get to know each other, if you wanted.”

“Like-?”

“Like a date,” Dream says hurriedly, “like, I’m asking if you’d want to go out. With me. Just to see if it works, maybe.”

George drags in a breath through his teeth. “Like an actual date? A date-date?”

“Yeah,” Dream says. George doesn’t look to see, but he imagines the corners of Dream’s lips turning upwards. “Yeah. A date-date.”

“Okay,” he says. “Just one. Just to see.”

“Just to see,” Dream agrees. There’s a quiet, settling over their shoulders. George leans into it. He takes a step down the path, and this time, Dream doesn’t take one too.


	2. the water looks bluer through our pretty eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I don’t know what to wear, Cat.”_
> 
> _She meows._
> 
> _“Any suggestions?”_
> 
> _Her meow turns into a soft purr. She pushes her nose against his jaw._
> 
> _“That’s what I thought you’d say,” George sighs. ___

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from [the ballad of love and hate](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6nAjUeyjND4)
> 
> enjoy :)

He gets home after a four hour session at the range, working his fingers to the bone on his bow. Techno gets like a drill sergeant sometimes, demanding more and more and more arrows. George complies, most of the time, but today his head is twisted on wrong, and his muscles still ache from yesterday.

Cat is waiting by the front door when he unlocks it, and she rubs her face against his shin as he drops his bag on the floor and hangs his coat over the dresser. “Hey, sweetie, are you hungry?”

She meows at him, starting up a steady purr in her chest. He leans down to run two fingers over her head, before lifting her into his arms and easing her onto his shoulder. George makes his way to the kitchen, letting her jump from his shoulder to the countertop. He tips kibble into her bowl, pushing it in front of her, before pulling a glass from the cupboard and filling it with water.

The kitchen is quiet. He listens to Cat crunch on her food, and sips from the glass slowly, letting the lonesomeness ease over him.

George inhales, swallowing dust and all his thoughts. He runs his mind back to earlier, to seeing Dream. To being asked out. To leaving him on the street in his rush.

Shit. He doesn’t even have Dream’s number. George sighs. Maybe he’ll be at the range again tomorrow, and he can organise things properly. Maybe Quackity and Karl will talk to Sapnap again and Sapnap will give them Dream’s number and he can get it from them.

It would be kind of weird, maybe kind of unconventional, but George figures nothing about their relationship so far has been totally normal. He wonders if Dream would find it funny, or if he’d be weirded out. 

Cat finishes eating, padding over the countertop to butt against his forearm again. She _mrrows_ at him, and George rests his elbows on the counter, bending slightly till he’s at her eye level. She steps forward to press her nose to his, licking the tip of it gently.

“I’m so bad at this sort of thing,” George says to her, “aren’t I, Cat? I’m never going to get a date with Dream.” He sighs, glancing down at her paws in front of him. “I don’t even know if I want a date with him.”

Cat doesn’t reply. George knew she wouldn’t. Her silence seems well-meaning, anyway.

* * *

Karl video calls him that evening, just after George has finished clearing up after the meagre dinner he’d made himself and proceeded to curl into the furthest corner of his sofa with Cat beside him. He swipes to accept the call, holding his phone out just far enough to allow his full face in the frame.

“So,” Karl starts, “a little birdy told me…-”

“He told Sapnap already?!”

“What?” Karl frowns, “no. Why? Did something happen with Dream?”

George halts. “What? Was that not what you were talking about?”

Karl shakes his head, “no. I was talking about something else. What were you talking about?”

“Nuhuh,” George says, “you first. You called me.”

“Okay, fine. A little birdy told me that you got invited to some fancy-schmancy archery competition thing,” Karl finishes.

“A competition?” George says, “...how come you knew about this before I did? Who told you about it?”

Karl waves his hand about dismissively. When he moves, his phone wobbles too, blurring a nice view of his ceiling. “That doesn’t matter. I just know that it’s true, and, even better news, there’s an awards ceremony afterwards, and you get to bring a plus one.”

“Why is that even better news?”

“Mm, I don’t know,” Karl says, sounding suspiciously like he _does_ know, “maybe someone has a sexy new man in their life, who would look good as hell in a nice suit, who they could invite along to this prestigious awards thingy, and then have inappropriate smooches in the bathroom after fancy champagne and-”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Nothing, nothing. Anyway, what did you think I was gonna ask you about?” Karl says.

George blushes almost on cue. “It’s not that important. Just. Well, after I left this morning, I ran into Dream on the way to the range.”

“You did?”

“Yeah,” George says, “and, well, he kind of asked if I wanted to go out with him?”

Karl makes a face. He moves his phone about again, angling it so George can see the judgement in his eyes. “Kind of asked? What did you say?”

“I said yes.”

“You said yes?!”

“Yes, I said yes,” George says. Karl’s excitement is almost infectious, and he feels it bleeding into him. He can’t help the smile that blooms across his face. 

“Well, where is he taking you?” Karl demands, “it better be somewhere nice. Somewhere nice and expensive. First impressions are important.”

George’s face falls. “Yeah. Um, we didn’t talk about that yet. And I don’t have his number. So.”

“You don’t have his number?” Karl says, incredulously. “George, come on. It’s the twenty-first century. Where are you living, the Dark Ages? You gonna send him a carrier pigeon with a date and hope he gets it in time?”

“Shut up,” George groans, covering his eyes with his free hand. “I just forgot. I was in a rush. It’s not my fault!”

“It kinda is your fault. What’s your plan now?”

“I guess I’ll just hope that I run into him at the range,” George shrugs. It probably won’t be too hard - Dream tends to be there more often than he isn’t. 

“And they say romance is dead,” Karl teases. “I can’t believe this. Quackity is going to lose his shit when I tell him.”

“Oh, don’t,” George says, “don’t tell him. He’ll never let me live it down. He’ll probably tell Sapnap and Sapnap will tell Dream and then he’ll never fall in love with me because he’ll realise how much of a dumbass I am and he’ll hate me forever and ever and ever.”

Karl’s eyebrow slowly creeps higher up his forehead as George rants. When he finishes, he says, “you’re in pretty deep, huh?”

George lets his head fall against the back of the couch. “I don’t even know. I mean, this is kind of weird, isn’t it?”

“It’s only as weird as you make it.”

“I barely even know him,” George says, “I didn’t like him. But now he’s asked me out, and every time I look at him, I feel like I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to know,” Karl says. “I mean, to me, it sounds kinda like you’re feelin’ something for him, you know? But it doesn’t have to be anything.”

George drags a hand over his left eye. “I know that. I just… I think I want to. I want to love him.”

“Are you sure?”

“No,” he admits. He isn’t; he has the memory of Dream’s skin under his and Dream’s eyes on him and the burning he feels in his stomach every time Dream opens his mouth, and he doesn’t know what to make of it. George doesn’t know what he _wants_ to make of it.

“Then go see him,” Karl advises, “at the range. Get his number. Let him take you out. And you can go from there.”

“I guess so.”

Karl pokes at his camera, covering it with his fingertip for a brief second. “I know so. You miss all of the shots you don’t take, right?” he says, wisely. George grimaces at it.

“I guess,” he repeats, offering Karl a small smile. “Thanks, Karl. Um, I’ll keep you updated, although you’ll probably hear it from Sapnap, anyway. And about that awards thing, if you hear anything else-”

“I’ll let you know,” Karl finishes, “you look zonked out, man. Go get some sleep.”

Karl hangs up on him before George can say anything else, so he lets the phone slip from his fingers and into his lap. He sighs, heavily. The day had been short but he feels it weighing on his shoulders like a ton of bricks. 

Cat pushes her forehead into the flesh of his thigh, purring until George lays his hand across her back. He feels her lungs expand beneath his palm, and he breathes in time with it, letting her heartbeat lull his to sleep.

* * *

George wakes early the next morning, thanks to Cat sticking her cold nose into the crook of his neck. He glances across at his alarm clock, which is five minutes away from ringing, and figures there’s no point in trying to go back to sleep.

Instead, he spends his extra five minutes scrolling through his phone, catching up on texts from Karl and Quackity, and a tentative dive into a news site.

He sends Quackity a message; _Do you know about this sports awards ceremony Karl’s been talking about?_ and doesn’t expect an answer until midday.

When the alarm actually does ring, he jabs the silent button with a grimace. Even Cat seems disturbed by it, if the way she arches her back and turns her nose up at it is anything to go by. George scratches two fingers on the top of her head.

“You ready to get some breakfast, kitty?” he asks, waiting for her to jump down and pad her way out of his bedroom before following her. George pulls his sleep shirt off on his way out of the room, replacing it with a clean shirt from the laundry he hasn’t finished putting away. He’ll shower later; he has a packed day at the range and a gym session this evening.

Cat runs ahead, and waits for him on the kitchen counter. He fills her bowl up, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he goes, clicking the button on the coffee machine as he passes. 

It’s a nice morning. Crisp, warm but not too hot. George watches the trees wave at him from the kitchen window, resisting the urge to wave back.

The coffee machine beeps at him, and he slides a mug under the spout. He likes mornings like this, where the world moves one step behind him as he watches it wake up, and Cat crunches her kibble, and the faint hissing from the machine echoes all around him. George relaxes into their comfort and he doesn’t have to think for a few minutes.

The coffee finishes soon enough, and he sips it. He has enough time before he’s expected at the range to take it slow for a little while, so he does. George packs his bag with more care than usual, takes more breaks to pay attention to Cat, and drinks the coffee slower.

Once he’s done, finished with his morning routine, he walks the route to the range slowly, as well. The air is fresh and clean, and he takes several deep breaths as he locks the door behind him.

It’s not a long walk, but it’s not exactly short either. It’s good in nice weather and miserable when it’s anything else, but George doesn’t mind. He knows it like the back of his hand by now, and soon enough, the building appears in front of him.

What he doesn’t expect, however, is to see Dream lounging just outside the entrance.

“George! You’re here!”

He frowns at him, “of course I’m here. _You’re_ here.”

“I was waiting for you,” Dream explains. It’s not much of an explanation, and George’s dubiousness must show in his face, because he hurries to clarify. “I mean, I just realised that, well, I asked you out yesterday but I never gave you my number or anything. And I don’t actually know your schedule as well as I thought I did.”

“So you thought it would be better to wait outside the building for me to arrive?” George asks.

Dream blushes. “Okay, well. In hindsight, maybe it wasn’t the best idea.”

“No shit,” George says, but he smiles.

“But you’re here now, so it’s fine,” Dream says, “and, look. I was going to give you my number. If you wanted it. I mean, it would be kind of helpful if you did.”

“Sure,” George agrees. His hands shake a little when he pulls his phone out, opening his contacts and handing it to Dream so he can put his number in. “Are you going to be here for a while?” he asks, taking his phone back when Dream finishes.

He shakes his head. “No. I have stuff to do, I was just waiting for you so I could do this. But you text me later, okay? When you’re done. We’ll set something up.”

“Yeah,” George says. He glances at the screen, sees Dream has sent himself a ‘hey, this is george!’ message already, before clicking it off and tucking it back into his bag. “We’ll set something up,” he repeats, indulging in the fuzzy feeling those words set in his stomach.

Dream grins at him, bright and wide and beautiful. “We will. I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Okay,” George says. It’s enough of a goodbye; when he walks into the building, he feels all sorts of giddiness bubbling away in his lungs.

* * *

His session passes quickly. George manages to put Dream out of his mind for the most part, concentrating on hitting arrow after arrow. His hyperfocus on the target lends itself to a wildly successful session, and he shoots gold over and over.

He starts packing up once several hours have passed, and the muscles in his shoulders start to burn whenever he moves them. His heart thuds nicely, pushing against the walls of his chest. George inhales, feeling each and every movement of his body intensely.

The door to the range swings shut behind him. The main lobby is relatively quiet - as per usual, especially in the middle of the day. He recognises a few of the patrons, but none of them respond to him when he catches their eyes.

Until he runs into Sapnap.

“Oh-! Hey, it's you! George, right?”

“Right,” George says, readjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder, “and you’re… Sapnap?”

“Bingo,” Sapnap says. He has a fiery sort of grin, the sort of smile that George thinks might burn him if he gets too close. He takes an apprehensive step back. “I’ve heard a lot about you, actually.”

“You have?”

Sapnap laughs, “hah, yeah. Dream never shuts up about you.”

George looks at the vending machines to his left. They’re running out of blackcurrant Ribena. A blush works its way up his cheeks. “Doesn’t he?”

“Nope,” Sapnap says. “You know Karl and Quackity, don’t you?”

“I do.”

“Mm, yeah. Well, listen, George. Dream is kinda in over his head right now, and he’ll definitely hate that I’m telling you this, but-”

“Don’t hurt him or you’ll hurt me?” George finishes for him, letting the corners of his lip turn up just a little.

Sapnap shakes his head, “no, actually. I was gonna say, he’s totally obsessed with you, but if you need him to back off, just tell him, you know? He might not seem like it, but he will listen if you tell him something.”

“Oh,” George says. “I’ll, um. I’ll keep that in mind, I guess.”

“Good,” Sapnap says. He nods, once, “well, there you go. You know, I have a feeling we’re gonna get to know each other pretty well.”

“You do?”

“Sure, I do. Karl and Q talk about us, don’t they?”

George pauses - he feels almost like his feet have been knocked out from under him. Sapnap thus far has been an unknown variable; he’d known they were all talking behind his back but George hadn’t known how _much,_ and Sapnap is starting to seem like more than he ever really expected _._ “Yeah, a little bit, I guess.”

“I thought so,” Sapnap says. Then he laughs, clapping George on his shoulder, “hey, you don’t gotta look so afraid. I’m not gonna bite you, dude. I’m just saying, you know, Karl and Quackity are pretty close to me, and Dream is pretty close to me too. And they’re all pretty close to you. I think we’re friends by proxy already.”

George allows himself a laugh too, “that’s a, uh, a good point. So, you don’t mind about me and… and Dream, then?”

“If I minded, I would have put a stop to it by now,” Sapnap answers. He sounds totally serious. “At least, if you finally get on with it and kiss him, I’m hoping it’ll finally shut him up.”

“Kiss him-?!”

Sapnap just laughs, “I’m just joking. But, you know, if you did wanna kiss him, you have my blessing and all that. Do whatever you want with him.”

“Thanks,” George says. He furrows his brow. “I think?”

“No worries, man. Hey, I’ll see you around, won’t I?”

George shrugs, “I’m here more often than I’m not. So, yeah. Probably.”

“Awesome. I’ll catch you sometime,” Sapnap says, “it was nice to talk with you properly.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you too. I’ll see you,” George says. He offers Sapnap a small smile, clenching his fist around the strap of his bag before leaving. Sapnap walks in the opposite direction, and George is left feeling like his world just got rocked.

He’s not quite sure what to make of it.

* * *

> _heyy george, it’s dream. text me back! just wanted to, you know, say hi, and maybe we could talk about me taking you out at some point soon ;) let me know_

George stares at the text on his phone. He hears it in Dream’s voice, hears the drawn out ‘hey’ and the exclamation point, sees his grin and the twinkle in his eyes. Quackity, to his left, laughs at him.

“Dude, just reply. Say yes! It’s not that hard.”

“It _is_ that hard,” George replies. He stares at his phone until the light from the screen blurs into nothing, searing itself into the back of his eyelids. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Say… ‘hi Dream, George here. I would love to go out with you and also spend a long passionate night with yo-’”

“No!”

He’s still laughing. George kicks his foot out until it makes contact with Quackity’s thigh.

“Be serious,” George begs, “I don’t wanna, like, mess this up.”

“You’ve met him, what, twice?” Quackity asks, giving George some sort of look. “And honestly, if he hasn’t run for the hills yet, I reckon you’re good to go.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, nothing! Just that, you know,” Quackity shrugs his shoulders, “you’re kind of intimidating. And you use a weapon.”

George raises an eyebrow, “you think I’m intimidating?”

“Wh- no, _I_ don’t think you’re intimidating,” Quackity corrects, “I’m just saying, other people might find you intimidating. You pack a lot of anger into your tiny body.”

“I’m taller than you.”

“That’s irrelevant. You’re kinda feisty. You could kill a man,” Quackity says, “honestly, Dream has balls for talking to you in the first place.”

George makes a face, “I don’t know if I should be taking this as a compliment or not.”

“That’s also irrelevant,” Quackity informs him. “What _is_ relevant, is the fact that Dream’s already gotten this far. He’s given you his number, you tolerate him, he’s asked you out… he definitely wants this.”

“That doesn’t help me type out a reply to him,” George says.

“Well, okay, sure. But do you really think he’d mind what you replied with? As long as you said yes, I doubt he’d care too much. Just reply normally.”

George sighs. He tries out several messages, and backspaces all of them.

Eventually, he sends; _Hey Dream. I’d love to go out sometime. Let me know when and where._

“That is so fucking basic.”

“You said to reply normally!”

“Well, look,” Quackity says, snatching George’s phone, “he sent a winky face! And an exclamation mark. You should have sent a heart, or a kiss, or _something.”_

“But I don’t use those normally.”

Quackity groans, “you should make an exception for the person you’re flirting with. You sound like you’re conducting a business meeting.”

“Hey!”

Quackity tosses George’s phone back. “It’s true. We’ll have to work on that.”

“What do you mean, _work on th-_ he replied!”

> _george! i was wondering when id hear from you ;)_
> 
> _im free this saturday if you are. i can pick you up at eight, if you want?_
> 
> _I can do Saturday. Eight PM. That sounds good._

“This is going so badly,” George groans.

Cat jumps up beside them. Quackity reaches out to scratch behind her eyes, saying, “it can’t be that bad.”

George doesn’t bother to respond, simply giving him an incredibly doubtful look.

> _awesome. let me know your address and ill pick you up then!_
> 
> _Do I get to know where you’re taking me?_
> 
> _no ;) its a surprise_

“He keeps sending winky faces,” George says.

“So send one back.”

“No way.”

> _Will you at least tell me how formal it is?_
> 
> _hmmmm okay fine. casual but not too casual. smart, not fancy_
> 
> _Smart, not fancy? Okay…_
> 
> _Will you be around at the range in the next few days?_
> 
> _i can be. why, do u miss me?_
> 
> _Lol, you wish._
> 
> _;) maybe i do_

“What do I say now?”

“Send a winky face back!”

> _Oh?_

George grimaces as soon as he presses send. “That felt wrong. He’s going to think it’s so dumb.”

“It’s not that bad,” Quackity says. His phone pings before he can say any more.

> _;)_
> 
> _ive got to run now. ill ttyl! and see you soon, probably_
> 
> _Bye, Dream._

“That went awful,” George declares. He switches his phone off so he doesn’t have to look at it any longer.

“You got a date out of it,” Quackity says, “I wouldn’t call it awful. Actually, by your standards, I’d call that pretty good.”

“Do you come round just to tear me down?” George asks, “or are you going to actually offer your support?”

Quackity just laughs. It lasts long enough that George allows his back to bend slightly, and he laughs too. Eventually, Quackity says, “hey, you know that awards ceremony?”

“Yeah, kinda. What about it?”

“Karl said you could RSVP with a plus one,” Quackity says. “You should invite Dream.”

“What? You think so?”

He shrugs, “I don’t see why not. It’s not for a month or so, so you have time to get to know each other. If things go wrong in that time, you can bring me or Karl. If things go _well,_ then you’ll get to attend a fancy-schmancy ceremony with your hot boyfriend.”

“Are you sure it wouldn’t be a bit… I don’t know, forward?”

“Do you think Dream would say no?”

George pauses. “Well, no. I guess not.”

“There you go, then. He clearly wants to spend as much time as he can with you, even if you can’t see that,” Quackity says. “He sat and watched you do the same thing for like five hours in a row just because it was you who was doing it. He’s thrown himself off the deep end here.”

“Do you really think so?”

Quackity just nudges his shoulder into George’s. “Neither of you are as subtle as you think you are.”

George just frowns. There’s a double meaning to Quackity’s words, and he hears it, but he can’t decipher it yet. He’s not sure if he wants to.

* * *

The next morning, he wakes up with Cat asleep on his chest. Her lungs rise in tandem with his, and he’s careful not to disturb her as he reaches across to turn off the alarm and grab his phone.

There’s a couple of messages - most notably, a spam from Karl, one from Dream, and two from Quackity.

George opens Quackity’s messages first. One is a voice message of him eating a burrito, the second is a ‘sorry, wrong person’. George elects to ignore it.

He opens Karl’s next, and is greeted by a full page spam of things like ‘WHAT?!’ and ‘YOU HAVE A DATE. A DATE!!!!’ and ‘I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU DIDN’T TELL ME IMMEDIATELY’. He fires off a quick _sorry,_ and exits out of it, navigating to Dream’s message thread.

Dream’s text is a simple _good morning, george :)._ It fills something in George’s stomach with warmth.

He stares at it for a few minutes, until Cat wakes up. She meows at him impatiently, clearly ready for them to get up and start the day. He switches his phone off, tossing it onto the bed beside him.

George scratches the top of her head. “Okay, kitty. Up we get. Let’s get you some breakfast, yeah? That’s what you want?”

She meows again, and it sounds like a yes. She hops up from his chest, leaping off of his bed. George follows her to the kitchen and tips kibble into her bowl. He fills up her water as he goes, setting the coffee machine and the toaster on his way past. 

His mornings are simple, repetitive, and easy. He likes them. They let his heart beat freely, and as he leans against the counter, watching Cat crunch on her food, sipping his own cup of coffee, the universe doesn’t feel quite so painfully big.

* * *

George doesn’t have a training session scheduled with Techno that day, but he’s waiting at the range all the same.

“George, I wanted to talk to you.”

It isn’t a question. George hurries over. “Yeah, hi. What about?”

“You might have heard about it,” Techno says, “but there’s a competition being held soon. It’s an award type thing. You’ve been invited, you have a plus one. I already RSVP-ed for you, and your plus one. You can bring whoever you like. I’ll email you the details, okay?”

“What- but-”

“I’ve heard that you might be on the shortlist,” Techno says. His voice lowers to a stage-whisper. “So don’t tell anyone. But it would be a shame to miss out on your prize, wouldn’t it?”

“Uh, yeah,” George says, “I guess so. But I don’t even know if I-”

“Great,” Techno interrupts. “Listen, have a good session. Don’t work yourself too hard. I’ll see you next time.”

“Um, thanks,” George just about manages to get out, before Techno leaves. George stares at the place where he had been standing, before blinking and shaking his head to clear it. Techno is, and has been for as long as George has known him, something of an enigma. Today seems to be no exception.

He continues on to the range, pushing open the door and starting to set up his equipment. There, he falls into the beautiful monotony of shooting, pushing himself through target after target after target. The rest of the world falls away for a little while, and everything doesn’t seem so bad.

He takes a break around midday, pulling an energy bar and a water bottle from his bag, and settling into the corner of the room. He pulls his phone out too, and is met with several more notifications than he usually has.

Karl has replied to his text with a simple _I forgive you, I guess,_ but the message that catches his attention is from Dream.

> _george?_
> 
> _sorry, youre probably busy_
> 
> _can i call you?_

George doesn’t bother typing out his reply. Instead, he swallows his nerves and goes straight for Dream’s contact, pressing the call button before he can chicken out.

Dream picks up after the first ring, like he was waiting for it. “George!”

“Hey. Sorry for ignoring you this morning.”

“That’s okay,” Dream says, “I messaged you pretty early. And you’re a busy guy. You’re at the range, right?”

“Right. I was going to reply this morning, but I got distracted,” George explains, “by my cat. Sorry. I can talk now, for a bit. I’m taking a break.”

“I’d like that. So how’s your training going?”

George hums, “it’s not going too badly. I haven’t missed the target once, yet, so it’s going well all things considered.”

“That feels like a jab at me.”

“Maybe, a little bit.”

Dream laughs. It’s slightly fuzzy as it comes through his phone speakers, but it’s still his. George feels embers burning at the bottom of his stomach. “I’m offended. We can’t all be talented archers, you know.”

“Can’t we? What sort of talents do you have, then?” George asks. He settles into their conversation easily, letting Dream’s voice drip all over him.

“Hmm, I don’t know. We’ve already covered my talent in soccer, right?”

“We have.”

“What about my musical genius?”

George laughs. “I haven’t heard about that yet.”

“Well, would you like to?”

“It depends how long it’ll take,” he says, “I have to get back to my bow soon.”

“Oh, I see how it is,” Dream says. He puts on a voice, mournful and heartbroken, “go back to your bow. I’ll remember you, even if you leave me.”

“You’re so overdramatic,” George tells him, “no wonder Sapnap said you were an annoying kid. Why don’t you tell me this story on Saturday? We’ll have ages then.”

Dream sighs, “I suppose I can wait that long.”

“It’s not that far,” George says. “I’ll talk to you soon, Dream. I really do have to go.”

“I understand, I understand,” Dream says. His voice softens slightly, “bye, George.”

“Bye, Dream.”

George hangs up first, hovering his finger over the end call button before pressing it. He almost doesn’t want to, but he really does have to get back to training. He tucks his phone back into his bag, and packs up his water bottle. He fits the chest and arm guard back on, lifting his bow up and readjusting himself to the weight of it.

He nocks an arrow, drawing it back easily. When he shoots, he lets his mind run free for the first time in a while. All he thinks of is Dream, and the arrow lands wide.

He hasn’t missed a target in a while. George spares one last glance at his phone, hidden in the side pocket of his bag, before taking a breath. He fits another arrow in, blinking slowly as he aligns himself with the bullseye.

When he releases this one, it hits the red rings. George finds himself forcibly removing Dream from his mind - there’s no way he’ll be able to get anything above the red if he doesn’t.

(He’s still almost sad to see him go.)

* * *

The rest of the week passes with ease. It almost runs away with George, in a blur of cat fur and centre shots and the looming threat of Saturday.

Before long, he’s staring at the inside of his wardrobe, wondering just how smart Dream is expecting him to be.

Cat _mrowps_ next to him, butting her head against his shin. George bends down to pick her up, letting her settle in the crook of his elbow.

“I don’t know what to wear, Cat.”

She meows.

“Any suggestions?”

Her meow turns into a soft purr. She pushes her nose against his jaw.

“That’s what I thought you’d say,” George sighs.

In the end, he chooses a navy blue sweater and the nicest pair of jeans he can find. It takes about half an hour to scrape all the cat fur off, but he manages it with about fifteen minutes to spare. George rushes through brushing his teeth, making sure he has enough deodorant and a spritz of cologne, messing with his hair one final time before there’s a knock at his door.

“You have to behave,” he informs Cat. She gives him a look. 

George pulls the door open.

“Hi,” Dream says. His smile seems so much _more_ in the evenings.

“Wow. Hi,” George says. “I, uh. Didn’t expect you to clean up so nice.”

“You think this is nice?” Dream gives a spin, winking at George. “You’ve seen nothing yet. But you’re not so bad yourself.”

“Thanks,” George says. He tries to ignore the blush rising in his cheeks. “Are you ready, then?”

Dream starts to nod; until Cat launches herself out the door and starts to wind herself around Dream’s legs.

George gasps, “Cat! I told you to behave! You’ll get cat hair all over Dream’s clothes, get back here.”

She chirps at him, not moving at all until Dream crouches down and holds his hand out to her. She sniffs it, and then Dream starts to tentatively stroke her forehead.

“You don’t have to-”

“It’s okay,” Dream says, “I have one too. She’s cute.”

“Too cute,” George grumbles. 

Dream laughs, “aren’t they all? What did you say her name was?”

“Oh- um, I just call her Cat.”

“Cat?”

“Just Cat,” George repeats. 

Dream looks up at him doubtfully. “Really?”

“Are you going to keep judging me for my cat’s name or can we get going now?” 

“Right, sure,” Dream says. He gives Cat one more scratch, before ushering her back in the doorway and standing up. “So, you’re ready to go?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” George says. He snags his door keys and tucks them into his pocket, stepping out of the door and pulling it shut before Cat can run out again. “Will you tell me where we’re going yet?”

Dream smiles, and doesn’t stop, leading George down to his car. “Nope, not yet. It’s a surprise, I told you that.”

“I don’t like surprises.”

“You’ll like this one,” he promises.

Dream opens the passenger side door for George, waiting for him to slide in before closing the door. Here, just the two of them in the dark, George feels nerves start to fizzle in his stomach. Everything looks different - watching Dream’s eye glow under the streetlights and his hands pass over the steering wheel as he puts the car in gear and starts off down the street. Even the paths George has walked everyday look unfamiliar.

He doesn’t know what to make of it. He inhales soured anxiety and relishes in the bitterness that lands in the back of his throat.

“Are you nervous?” Dream asks, quietly. The car purrs beneath his fingertips, and George watches him flick the indicators, stewing in the silence for a minute before answering.

“A little,” he replies. “This is different, isn’t it?”

“Different how?”

“You look different in the dark,” George says. 

Dream glances over at him, almost smiling. It’s on the tip of his tongue, spilling all down his chin. “I do?”

“Yeah,” George says, “you look older. Scarier.”

“Scary?”

“Maybe you’re taking me off to some hidden lair to kidnap me.”

It makes Dream laugh. George watches the twitch of his lips as he turns the car, barely able to take his eyes off. He thinks he could fall in love like this, really and truly and properly. 

They finish the drive in silence. Dream parks the car along the road in front of a small, dim, restaurant bar, and waits by the curb for George. He holds his elbow out, like he’s expecting George to take it.

George gives him a look. “Really?”

“Humour me.”

George raises his eyebrow, stepping over the curb in front of him, “no.”

It makes Dream laugh again, and he follows George easily. George holds the door to the restaurant open for him this time, and it makes something beautiful simmer in the iris of Dream’s eyes.

George can’t look away from it. It feels like he’s drowning.

They get seated at a small table in the far back of the restaurant, away from the few other patrons. Dream doesn’t try to pull George’s chair out for him, and George gives him a smile as the server disappears.

At once, George feels like he’s been left in his own world, locked in a bubble with no one but Dream. He scrapes his teeth against his tongue. “This is nice.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah.”

“I told you you would like it,” Dream says. His eyes smolder in low-level light. George feels them locked on him like a sniper rifle.

He picks at the edge of his nail. “You did.”

“Did you doubt me?”

“A little bit.”

George watches Dream as he looks away to the left and back again. He says, “tell me why?”

He inhales slowly, feels his lungs press against the edges of his ribcage. “I don’t normally do things like this. I don’t normally talk to people like you.”

“People like me?”

“I don’t know what to make of you,” George continues. He doesn’t know how to answer Dream’s question, so he doesn’t. “You watched me at the range and I went home and I felt you looking at me like I was branded.”

“Do you hate it?” Dream asks.

“Would I be here if I did?”

Dream laughs, just slightly. “I guess not. I’m glad you are.”

“I’m glad I am too,” George admits. He isn’t sure what to make of the words - he says them, and feels his heart plummet in his chest, and he knows, without a doubt, that he would fall in an instant.

There’s a warmth, beautiful embers sparking up in his chest. George chokes on smoke and ash. He’s never felt more alive. Dream smiles at him and he burns. 

“I promised you I’d tell you about my musical proficiency in our phone call the other day,” Dream says, almost shyly. George smiles at him, tilting his head. “You still want to hear about it?”

He nods, “of course. Tell me about all the eardrums you must have burst.”

It makes Dream laugh. “That’s- that’s rude. Your lack of faith in me hurts.”

“I’m not going to apologise,” George says, but he knows Dream hears it in his voice anyway.

“I know you won’t,” he says. His smile forgives him. “But let me tell you about it. Let me tell you anyway.”

“Okay,” George agrees. He leans back slightly in his chair, listens to the wood creak behind him. The restaurant is calm, and they’re alone, and he thinks this night could last forever.

* * *

It doesn’t. The moon rises higher and higher in the sky and George feels his skin melting off of his body. Dream drives him home, and he feels giddy and light on his feet.

His heart beats so immeasurably fast, it’s like he’s living out a hundred lifetimes at once. He tastes stale wine and rich dinner sauce and something incomparably beautiful on his tongue when he steps out of Dream’s car, letting his smile linger for a moment too long.

George slams the car door. The night is cold and long. He shuts his front door and listens to the purring of Dream’s car as he pulls away, and then he leans back against it and sighs, breathing out every atom of his love at once.

Cat curls around his legs, meowing at him.

“I’m screwed, Cat,” George tells her. Even he can hear the unabashed grin in his voice.

* * *

The next day is one he spends at the range - alone, this time, and he receives no visitors throughout the day either.

It’s a blessing and a curse. George allows the memories of the previous night to fuel him through it, but he still finds himself missing Dream. His heart aches with it. He doesn’t know what to think.

Not even Karl or Quackity message him, which he had been expecting. Their radio silence is suspicious, but not so much that he’s inclined to reach out first and investigate. In fact, that might be what they’re waiting for, for him to rise and take the bait. He knows they won’t be able to last much longer without sending him a flurry of messages, and he has no doubts he’ll receive one soon enough.

He doesn’t even see Sapnap at the range. Which is odd. George hasn’t ever really looked out for him before, but now his brain feels hardwired to pick out on anything he can find to do with Dream. Sapnap included.

He tries his best to stay distracted with his bow, though, nocking arrow after arrow. It doesn’t work as well as he hopes it would, but the mindless repetition of it does enough to soothe his mind that he can focus well enough. It’s probably the best he could hope for. Dream seems to live longer in his head than he does in real life at this point.

It’s not something George can quite bring himself to be upset about either. He doesn’t think he minds too much.

* * *

Karl and Quackity are waiting at his front door when he gets him. It’s barely a surprise. George just gives them both a look, combats their wide, wide grins with an exhausted stare, and let’s the three of them into his house.

Cat purrs as soon as she sees Karl, wrapping herself around his legs until he crouches down to pet her properly. Quackity ignores her, waiting for George to stash his bag and equipment in the corner of his hallway and then redirect his attention to the two of them.

“So,” Quackity says, his smile laying heavily into his tone, “Cupid.”

George doesn’t even bother replying.

Karl laughs, standing back up, “you’ve been ignoring us. We were waiting last night, expecting some big thing about how your date went. And we received nothing.”

George shrugs, “and now you’re here. Presumably to worm all the details out of me.”

“You guessed right,” Quackity says. “We want to know _everything.”_

“Everything?” George makes a face.

“Everything,” Karl confirms. “We’ve been waiting long enough. Come on.”

“Exactly,” Quackity says. “After all, we helped you get this date. You could at least tell us how it went.”

“How did you help me get this date?” George asks. He turns around to head into the kitchen, busying himself with preparing a glass of water and setting out some food for Cat. Karl and Quackity just follow him.

“Would you have texted him back without my input?” Quackity asks.

“Yes,” George says, “probably. You guys barely helped me get this date at all.”

They both look at him doubtfully. George glares back. He’s almost fairly certain that he can out-last them on this one, but he doesn’t particularly want to test it. Thankfully, Karl folds before he does, and says, “alright, fine, whatever. Will you at least just tell us what happened? Otherwise we’ll go to Sapnap.”

He grimaces. He wonders how Dream would tell that story, if he would embarrass himself or George more. George decides he doesn’t want to find out. “Fine. I’ll tell you.”

“Good,” Quackity says. He brightens up immediately, leading the three of them out of the kitchen and to George’s living room, where he wastes no time in settling into his sofa.

Karl copies, situating his feet in Quackity’s lap. George sits with a fair amount of distance between him and them, pulling his knees up to his chin. Cat finishes eating and hops up on the back of the sofa, nudging her nose into the back of George’s neck before curling up behind him. “So?” Karl prompts.

“Well,” George says, “he came and picked me up when he said he would. Uh, Cat liked him. She ran out, actually, and got fur all over his legs.”

As if hearing her name, Cat perks up and meows at him. It makes Quackity laugh. He says, “that sounds like Cat. At least you know she approves, right?”

“Right,” George says, “because I definitely needed my cat’s approval for the men I date.”

Karl shrugs, “I mean, would you have kept going out with Dream if Cat _didn’t_ like him?”

“...I’m not going to answer that. Do you want me to tell you what happened or not?”

Karl lifts his hands up in a mockery of a surrender, “no, no, carry on. Pretend I didn’t say anything.”

George sighs, leaning further into the couch cushions. “Anyway, Cat ran out, he made friends with her, kind of. Then we left. He drove me to the restaurant.”

“Where did he take you?” Quackity asks.

“I don’t know, some fancy-ish place,” George says, “I don’t remember the name. It seemed kind of expensive though. He wouldn’t let me look at the prices on the menu.”

“So he paid?”

George nods, “yeah, he did. So I have to pay next time, right?”

“Unless he’s rich,” Karl says.

“I’m not taking advantage of his money,” George says, frowning 

“It’s not taking advantage of his money,” Quackity says, “it’s, you know. Tactical.”

“Tactical,” George repeats.

“Yeah,” Quackity says, “tactical.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” George says, “I’m not going to take advantage of him for anything. Now shut up, let me talk or I won’t tell you.”

Karl reaches over to hold a hand over Quackity’s mouth, “we’ll be quiet from now on,” he promises, even if he doesn’t quite seem to believe it himself.

“So anyway, we just kind of talked for a while. It was nice. He was nice,” George admits, “I didn’t really expect to enjoy it that much. But it was better than I thought it would be.”

“That’s good, right?” Karl says.

“I think so,” George says. If he’s honest with himself, it is a good thing. If he’s honest with the smoke signals in his heart beat and the way Dream looks at him and the hundreds of other things that he’d never seen himself doing but now, with Dream, he couldn’t imagine not doing them after all. “I think it’s a good thing.”

“I’m glad it went well,” Karl says. He moves one of his legs, nudging George’s shin with the tip of his toe gently. “I think you guys could go pretty far, you know?”

“You really think so?”

“Me too,” Quackity agrees, “I think you’d be pretty good together. Which is why I think you should invite him to that awards ceremony. It’d make a pretty impressive second date, right?”

George grimaces, “are you sure? I think that’d be more intimidating than impressive. And I thought you said it was in, like, a month. That’s ages away. We might not even be together by then.”

“Do you really believe that?” Karl asks.

George doesn’t answer for a little while. Quackity gives him a knowing look. He says, “it’s cool to not know. But I think you’ve kinda hit the jackpot here. It’d be a shame to give it up.”

George shifts on the sofa. His movement disturbs Cat, who _mrews_ and slides off of the back of the sofa. She settles herself in his lap instead, balancing in between his thighs and George starts to run a hand down her back. “I don’t think I want to give him up.”

“No?” Karl says. He looks almost sympathetic. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think he wants to give you up, either.”

“Well, I’d hope not,” Quackity says. “Who would you bring to that ceremony if he did?”

Karl giggles, “I’d be more worried about who George would talk to while he was at the range. The receptionists need somebody to gossip about there.”

“No one is gossiping about us,” George says. At the very least, he’s fairly certain no one is gossiping about them. He’s sure he would have heard about it if they were - he’s there more often than he isn’t, after all.

The looks Karl and Quackity give him, before bursting into fits of laughter, do nothing to confirm it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i still havent finished the final chapter (its in the works, i promise) but im currently struggling with some physical health problems and school so... things are rocky and i apologise for that. next chapter will be soon. <3 thank you for reading

**Author's Note:**

> let me know some thoughts <3
> 
> find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/ERR0RGEO)


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